“Page, dear,” she twittered, “it is only cookies and sandwiches and pickles and cake.  But talking always makes people hungry.  Those nice gentlemen down at the Kencho are never in a hurry.  They may keep you till after lunchtime.  You and Miss Jenkins can have a tea party.”

Page laid a kindly hand on Jane’s shoulder.  “You dear little saint of a woman!  How good all of you are to me, and how I thank you.  Well good-by.  When you see me again I’ll be—­”

With hand outstretched to open the door for me to pass, he paused.  Once again the sound of a song reached us: 

“Before I slept, I thought of thee;
Then fell asleep and sought for thee
And found thee. 
Had I but known ’twas only seeming,
I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming.”

There was enough sweetness in Zura’s voice to woo a man to Heaven or lure him to the other place.  Page listened till the last note, then softly closed the door and walked beside me.  The look on his face held me speechless.  It was a glorious something he had gained, yet never to be his; a glimpse into paradise, then the falling of the shadows between; but the vision was his reward.

Usually it takes endless time in Japan to unwind the huge ball of red tape that is wrapped about the smallest official act.  That morning, when Page and I presented ourselves at the Government office, the end of the tape seemed to have a pin stuck in it, so easily and swiftly was it found.  Promptly announced, we were ushered without delay into a small inner office.

The walls of this room were lined with numberless shelves filled with files and papers.  Any remaining space was covered by pictures of famous persons, people wanted or wanting, and a geisha girl or two.

I noticed two other things in the room.  Adorning the center of the table, before which we were seated, was a large cuspidor.  The fresh flowers inside matched the painted ones outside.  To Japanese eyes the only possible use for such an ornament was to hold blossoms.  It was neither beautiful nor artistic, but being foreign was the very thing with which to welcome American guests.  Anxious as I was I felt myself smiling, if rather palely, at the many ways in which Kishimoto’s prophecy was being fulfilled.

The other thing was not amusing, only significant.  Page sat opposite me and I faced a heavily curtained recess, and some one was behind the drapery.  I had seen the folds move.  I had no way of warning the boy.  Had we been alone, I doubt if I would have made the effort.  Concealment for Page, unendurable suspense for those who loved him, must end.  I spoke only when necessary to interpret an unusual word.

A small official with a big manner began by eulogizing Mr. Hanaford’s skill in teaching and his success in imparting English.  He felt it a great rudeness of manner to the honorable teacher gentleman, but the law compelled applicant for the position of Professor of English in the Normal College to answer many personal questions.  For a moment he dallied with a few preliminary statements; then, throwing aside all reserve, the man began his probe as a skilled surgeon might search a victim’s body for hidden bullets.